Even in the Dead of Night
by MissTempleton
Summary: The next in my Twelfth Night series. Jack takes Phryne on holiday. Phryne takes Jack into another murder investigation. "And sing them loud, even in the dead of night" (Shakespeare, Twelfth Night)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

It was that silent hour immediately before dawn. The one that Phryne used to hate, because it would remind her of the soul-destroying times behind the trenches, when serried ranks of young men were waiting to be sent over the top with the whistle and her job was to get them to the field hospital and then watch their eyes stare in death. She'd found different ways of dealing with it since the war; often, she would stay out dancing until dawn and let alcohol-induced oblivion take over. Or she would find someone to bring home and play with, to while away the hours.

Now, as in so much, it was different, she thought, as she opened her eyes and let them rest on the sleeping man next to her. Lifting herself up gently so as not to wake him, she propped her head on one hand and studied his face. Even in peaceful sleep, he wore a slight frown, as though he carried the world's cares in his dreams as well as his waking hours. Certainly, there was enough that was ugly in his life – she'd once joked to him that if she found an attractive crime she'd hold a wake when it was solved.

But there was also plenty that was very, very beautiful – especially now. As she lifted her hand to push a stray curl of hair from his face, she saw, in the hint of the dawn, the sparkle of the diamond in the ring he had given her the previous evening. Married? Phryne Fisher? Wonders would surely never cease; but on the other hand, she'd had to face the idea of a life without Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson in it for a couple of dreadful days on their sojourn in London, and the sheer panic the thought invoked had been a salutary reality check.

She recollected that the flash of the stones in her "dearest" ring had been a harbinger of dawn, and realised glumly that he would wake as soon as it was light, and leave her, to do his civic duty for another day. Then she smiled to herself wickedly. Rather than run her hand down his back, laid very temptingly open to view where the sheet had been pushed down, she carefully lifted the sheet from herself too, and very warily moved to lie full length on his back. He gave no sign of having woken, until the corner of his mouth opened to mutter groggily.

"Phryne."

"Yes, Jack?" she whispered. It would be rude to wake him, after all.

"What 'you doing?"

"Stopping you getting up, Jack."

"Oh." A short pause. "D'you think it'll work?"

"Well, if I got up to find your handcuffs you might have woken up, so it was the best I could improvise under the circumstances."

Another short pause.

"Fair enough."

Faintly surprised that he wasn't making more effort to escape, she folded her hands over the back of his neck and rested her chin on them.

"Jack?" Now more of a chatty whisper.

"Hmmnn?"

"You know how we've just got married?"

"Hmmnn?" That was definitely a self-satisfied smirk, albeit a sleepy one.

"Are we allowed a honeymoon? I mean, are you allowed any more time off, after all the time we spent in England?"

Silence.

"Week."

"What?"

"Got a week. Starts today. Train to Gippsland 'n' hotel. 'N' a boat." Another smirk. He loved it when he could surprise her, and especially loved that he'd yet to open his eyes. "Can I go back to sleep now?"

Her eyes narrowed at his temerity in keeping such a secret from her. Then she smiled, cat-like.

"No, Jack Robinson, you may not."

Mrs Robinson proceeded to demonstrate the precise punishment handed down to husbands who failed to inform their brides of an impending honeymoon.

He didn't mind a bit – in fact, when she'd finished, asked very politely if she could please do it again, because he was awake now.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

On being informed that their train would be leaving Flinders St Station before 9am the following day, Phryne immediately telephoned Dot, who was eager to come and help pack. Leaving her twin babies with the divine Miss Stubbs, she commandeered Bert and Cec's taxi and appeared within the hour. The Queenscliff wardrobe was relied upon heavily, and Phryne regretted for a moment that there was no time to acquire anything new from Madame Fleuri; but still, a holiday was a holiday and she would Make Do.

The Inspector decided to steer well clear, and went to Flinders St to buy the tickets. Mr Butler was in his element, and spent much of the afternoon preparing a sumptuous picnic basket for the journey.

"I'm sure the refreshment people at Warragul and Sale do their best, Ma'am," he said patronisingly, "but I think we can improve, don't you?"

"Oh, certainly, Mr B," replied Phryne, slotting a bottle of champagne in next to the home-made lemonade he'd included.

Thus it was that at the rather horribly (in Mrs Robinson's view) early hour of 8.38am on Friday morning, the happy couple were ensconced in a first class carriage for the express to Warragul and all stations to Bairnsdale. By dint of spreading out their bags, coats and picnic to fit the space available, and behaving in what could only be regarded by a passing stranger as a thoroughly antisocial manner, they managed to secure a compartment to themselves, and the hours passed swiftly; by mid-afternoon, they were emerging on to the platform at Bairnsdale, commandeering porters and taxis for the short drive to the Abbotsford Hotel on Riverine St.

It wasn't until they'd checked in that it dawned on Phryne – this was the first time they'd actually not had to commit some subterfuge in order to share a room. Marriage definitely had its advantages. Also, Mr Robinson appeared to be a bit of a dab hand at booking hotels. He'd secured the best suite of rooms in the place, with a wrought-iron balcony overlooking the Mitchell River.

In fact, she felt a slight qualm, and wasn't sure how to raise it – or even whether to raise it at all.

Eventually, she decided that she would ask her awkward question in the most public place possible, using the assumption that her shy Jack wouldn't fly off the handle if he thought others were listening.

They were lingering over coffee in the hotel dining room when she took her courage in both hands (well, strictly speaking, in the hand whose back he wasn't drawing on with his fingernail).

"Jack?"

He looked up enquiringly.

"Can I ask a slightly tricky question?"

At first his brow furrowed, but something told her he'd expected this to arise. He inclined his head.

"Go ahead."

"This is all … simply lovely. The train journey, the hotel – my ring," she glanced down at it fondly again and his eyes smiled to see how well his attempt to make what had started as a marriage for show something much more meaningful had worked. Then she looked up at him with concern in her eyes.

"But, Jack, I've become used to not having to count the cost of things like this, and I know it's not the same for you. A senior Detective Inspector gets well paid, but I'm sure you have to give Rosie something – and even if you didn't have to, you would" She challenged him with her eyes to deny it. He didn't bother to try. "I've no idea whether this mad idea of marriage is going to work," his arrested expression made her hurry on, "but if it doesn't, it mustn't be because I've got more money."

Her eyes softened.

"I don't need the best seats and the best suites to have fun, Jack. I mostly just need you, and I want to make sure I'm doing everything in my power to keep us from ever letting money be a problem."

He said nothing for a little while, but turned her hand over to start tracing on her palm instead. Eventually he spoke.

"You don't need to worry." He looked up and could see her about to object to what sounded like a dismissal of the question. "Phryne … do you have any idea how long I've had to contemplate what it would be like to share my life with you? There really isn't any barrier you can think of that I haven't thrown up in front of myself ten times over." He smiled wryly. "It was part of the reason it took me so long to even consider making some romantic overture. It was an insoluble mystery to me, and you know how much I hate those," their eyes laughed at each other.

"I've sometimes talked to Rosie about just giving her a lump sum. She'd like it, she says – she wants to go back to stay with her sister, and the pair of them could start a business together if they had some capital. There's not much left for her in Melbourne now – not that she wants to hang on to, anyway."

He sat forward, and took her hand in both of his now.

"So, what I thought I might do is sell my place, and give Rosie a chunk of the proceeds. I'd like to contribute to our household expenses, and I can do that this way."

Then he smiled properly.

"And you definitely don't need to worry about the cost of this holiday, or whatever other holidays we have over the next few years. I wasn't living a monk's existence when you blew into my life, Phryne, but my only spend was on books, food, whisky and one new suit a year. You have absolutely no idea how much joy it gives me to have something so-utterly-thrilling" each word punctuated by a kiss to one of her fingertips, "to spend some savings on."

Sitting back, he tilted his head.

"Satisfied, Mrs Robinson?"

She sat forward, and started to play rather strangely with his fingers. Running the tip of her tongue along her top lip, she looked directly into his eyes and said very quietly, "Only in some respects, Mr Robinson."

It was fortunate that the bill had already been presented, because their exit from the dining room proved hasty.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

The following day, Jack had booked them a day on the hotel's sailing yacht. The _Cora May_ wasn't large – her crew of two could readily handle her – but at just shy of forty feet of glistening wood and brass, the ketch was, Phryne thought, quite beautiful. Joe and Sam, captain and mate respectively, were also fairly easy on the eye. She glanced at Jack when they were introduced, and twitched her nose to show her appreciation. He rolled his eyes and grinned, hefting the picnic basket the hotel had supplied onto the deck, where it was seized by Sam and stowed in the galley.

Soon, they were motoring downriver. Jack relaxed in the stern and chatted to Joe, while Phryne picked her way around the deck, exploring. She'd kicked off her Mary Janes as soon as she came on board, and relished feeling the sun-warmed boards under her bare feet. Her loose-fitting trousers billowed in the breeze as she stood at the prow, holding the forestay lightly for balance and looking ahead. She turned round and dipped her sunglasses, holding on to her broad-brimmed sunhat with a hand whose arm was looped around the halyard.

"Having fun yet, Jack?"

"How could I not be?" he called back.

An hour later, they had reached open water, the sails were lifted and the engine shut down, and the ketch showed what she could really do. Heeling from the breeze on a steady tack, she raced across Jones Bay. Looking around his craft, Captain Joe was well satisfied – the customers were both wearing grins a mile wide. He shouted to Sam to open the wine, and Phryne and Jack toasted each other yet again. While they did so, Sam came to stand next to Joe at the wheel.

"Skipper," he said quietly. Joe's head snapped round.

"Something wrong?"

"Maybe. I dunno. When I was down in the galley getting the wine, I could smell the engine."

Joe immediately caught on. It was never that pleasant having to run the engine, but they knew where to expect its noxious fumes – and also where not to.

"Take the wheel?"

Joe smiled at Jack and Phryne, who had no idea he was there, and slid on his forearms down the handrails to the galley.

The smell hit him straight away.

He moved through the lower deck – with few doors to open, it didn't take long. The starboard cabin door took a bit of effort to open, because a towel had somehow fallen on the floor next to it.

He found the source of the engine smell.

He also found the body.

Working quickly now, he moved to open the porthole in the cabin – on that tack, it would be well clear of the water for a while – and the other starboard portholes below. He also opened the hatch to the foredeck.

Then he moved as fast as he could back up on deck, and took the first deep breaths he had for the past few minutes. An exchange of glances with Sam was enough to let him know that all was not well.

"Mr and Mrs Robinson?" His tone was politely professional, and so very far from his casual attitude since they'd arrived on board that they both immediately gave him their full attention.

"I'm sorry to say that we're going to have to return to Bairnsdale shortly. I can assure you that you'll receive a full refund for the day's hire."

The two sleuths exchanged nonplussed glances, and Phryne spoke up first.

"But of course – please don't worry about us. Should you turn back straight away, if that's what we need to do?"

Joe shook his head, and realised he was going to have to tell the full story.

"I'm sorry, but I've just discovered there's been a terrible accident on board. Somehow, the exhaust fumes from the engine have got into the lower deck, and I want to stay on this tack for another fifteen minutes or so to give the air down there the chance to clear. I need to ask you not to smoke, please, until we're back on land."

They both agreed automatically, but then Phryne narrowed her eyes at him.

"You said there'd been an accident? Is someone hurt?"

Joe let out a deep breath. Women and their questions.

"There was someone in one of the cabins, who appears to have been asphyxiated by the fumes. I don't yet know how."

"But do you know who, Joe?" Jack, this time.

Joe gave a sickly smile.

"As a matter of fact, I do. His name's David Baker, and he owns – owned – this boat."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Getting back to Bairnsdale was laborious. Joe, understandably, didn't want to use the engine again, so they had to return under sail, upriver. The wind was broadly in their favour, but they still had to reach back and forth far more often than was commensurate with a relaxing day, and eventually Jack took duty on the sheets to starboard, allowing Sam to stay on the port side. Phryne stayed astern with Joe, who'd let the mainsail down rather than make too rapid passage in the confined space of the river. She decided that the poor man had enough to do without answering questions.

When they eventually tied up at the hotel's private jetty, though, she pounced – even as Sam was making the boat fast.

"So, I'm guessing Mr Baker wasn't a very popular chap?"

He looked at her askance, clearly adjusting his former view of his client.

"David was fine. Straight as a die. Not sure why you need to ask, though, Mrs Robinson?"

She explained succinctly.

"Robinson is my married name. This is me," and handed him her card.

"'The Honourable Phryne Fisher, Detective'?" he read out, suspicion ringing loud in his voice.

"Quite right, Joe," came a voice from behind her. "And I should confess, it's actually Senior Detective Inspector Jack Robinson of Melbourne Police."

He met Joe's disbelieving gaze.

"We _are_ on our honeymoon, though – admittedly, it's not quite how we envisaged spending it."

He met Phryne's eye, and in that moment, the holiday changed its nature for them both.

It was perhaps as well that they had a different view from the rest of the world of what constituted 'fun'.

"Joe …" Jack said diffidently, "it would probably help things along if Miss Fisher and I could have a look at the cabin where you found Mr Baker. Get Sam straight to the police station to report it though – who's the senior officer here?"

"Ned Stanford" said Joe distractedly. "Sergeant. But he won't be there just now, it's Saturday. He'll be up at the farm."

"The farm?"

"Yeah, his aunt has a dairy farm. He helps out when he can. Good bloke."

With no more than a blink, Jack accepted the priorities – and PR – of Victoria's local force – and, inclining his head to invite Phryne along, headed down the galley steps. His last words to Joe before heading below were to suggest mildly that if Stanford's aunt, or a neighbour, was on the telephone, it might be worth trying to let him know, because he'd probably be interested.

The cabin in question was in the stern, and directly adjacent to the engine compartment.

The late David Baker was sprawled face up on the single bed, and Jack moved swiftly to close the deceased's eyes. Phryne looked closely at the body.

"Pretty clearly asphyxiation – skin's got that blue tinge to it."

Jack nodded. "And the body's still warm. He must have died while we were motoring downriver this morning."

They both took a moment to absorb the enormity of the fact that they had been happily sitting on deck in the sunshine while Baker was dying in this cabin.

"You could almost say it was our fault he died," remarked Phryne, in typically clinical fashion.

He winced, and requested that she not repeat the sentence in anyone else's hearing. So far, they had both experienced arrest – she was far more relaxed about the experience than he was – but he wasn't at all anxious to go through the whole rigmarole again.

"Why didn't he let us know he was here, though? We weren't exactly tiptoeing about when we arrived."

Phryne looked at him consideringly for a moment, and then leaned close to the victim's face.

She sniffed gently, and nodded.

"Slightly sweet. I'm guessing that at some point someone gave him enough chloroform to ensure he would stay unconscious until the air he was breathing became deadly."

"But why would it become deadly?" Jack objected. "This is a well maintained boat. When we came on board, there was nothing out of place. Look at the brass – the brightwork – it's perfect."

She inclined her head in agreement.

"I think ..." she looked around the cabin, "we are going to find some tampering somewhere. Shall we ask Joe to join us?"

He agreed, and took a couple of steps up the ladder until he could see Joe, who was apparently on autopilot, furling and stowing sails, coiling ropes and otherwise tidying the boat for the day.

"Joe?" he called. The man raised his head reluctantly. "Can you come and show us what you found?"

There was a full ten seconds pause before the polite request from a fairly senior state police officer received its response, which gave Jack a fair idea of what they might be up against if they needed to dig deeper. For the moment, he chose to ignore it, and set out to put himself and Phryne on the side of the angels – assuming that was the right side to be on to secure Joe's co-operation.

"Was this how you found the cabin, Joe?" he asked calmly.

The captain glanced round, and nodded.

"What about the towel?" asked Phryne. The towel in question was still lying on the floor near the door.

"Yeah, it was there when I tried to get in. Jammed right behind the door."

Jack looked at him, brow furrowed.

"Jammed behind it? From the inside, you mean?"

Joe realised, too late, the implications of what he'd said, and clammed up.

Phryne, in the meantime, had been prowling the edges of the cabin, and came to a sudden halt.

"Jack, look!" she pointed at the juncture of the wall, floor and bunk.

A neat hole, no more than half an inch wide, had been drilled through. Unless a sharp-eyed detective had been searching for it, it might have been passed over as an intentional detail. Smooth-edged and varnished to match the rest of the woodwork, it could have escaped notice altogether.

Crouching to examine it, Jack met Phryne's glance. He spoke.

"Any bets that the engine's on the other side of this? And that the exhaust has also miraculously developed some kind of flaw?"

Their gazes both turned to the captain's; whose face turned to a shade of green that clashed terribly with the victim's blue.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Jack wanted to track down his local officer.

Phryne wanted to track down the next of kin.

So it was only pure, sensible logic that meant that they went back to the hotel, owned by the next of kin, in order to telephone the local officer.

Marital compromise is, after all, much to be admired, Phryne announced happily.

Jack chewed a chunk out of his cheek and agreed.

There were, in fact, two next of kin, as confirmed by Joe. There were three Baker siblings, of which David had been the middle one; his older brother Martin and his younger sister Estelle had equal shares in the family business.

It was Estelle who was at the front desk when they returned to the hotel, and looked up in surprise when Phryne and Jack entered.

"Mr and Mrs Robinson! Back so soon? We didn't expect to see you until this evening," she exclaimed. "Was everything okay with the boat?"

"Not exactly, Miss Baker," said Jack evasively. "Is there somewhere we could have a quiet word?"

Estelle showed them through to an office behind the reception area, and seated herself at the desk, looking at them expectantly. It was Phryne who gently broke the news to her.

"Miss Baker, I'm afraid we have some bad news, about your brother David."

"David?" she was even more confused now. "I didn't know you'd met him."

"We still haven't, precisely. I'm afraid he's dead, Miss Baker. He died on the boat this morning."

She shook her head slowly. "You're mistaken. You must be mistaken. David wasn't going on the charter today. He went to prep the boat last night and probably slept there, but he would have left at first light."

Jack leaned both hands on the desk. "I'm sorry, but he was positively identified by Joe, the captain of the vessel."

Something in his tone made her look up at him sharply.

"Mr Robinson, are you some kind of an official?"

He nodded. "My wife and I weren't going say anything – we really _are_ on our honeymoon – but Phryne is a private detective and I'm a Senior Detective Inspector with Melbourne Police Force. One of the things we were hoping to do now was to contact Sergeant – Stanford, is it?" Estelle nodded distractedly.

"I can get word to him. He'll be up at his aunt's farm, but they've got a radio and someone usually checks in every few hours."

Focused again, she looked up at Jack. "How did Davy die? If you try to tell me he drowned I'll know you have the wrong guy."

"No, he didn't drown. We think he suffocated in the fumes from the boat engine," said Jack quietly. "And I'm afraid we have reason to believe that it was the result of a deliberate sabotage."

She was still gently and constantly shaking her head in denial, but at this she looked up.

"Inspector, that's the first thing you've said that makes any sense at all. If there were fumes in the cabin it could only have been sabotage. We love that boat. Davy and Martin helped Dad build it. In fact, since Dad died two years ago, Davy quite often sleeps there." She sighed. "We all miss him differently, but it's Davy's way of handling it."

She looked at him directly, now, and a hint of steel came into her demeanour.

" _Was_ his way."

She stood, and moved over to the radio.

"I'll get Ned Stanford for you. And I'll need to find Martin and tell him."

All cold, efficient businesswoman now, she got up to fire up the radio, and gave them a look.

"If someone killed my brother, you both have my full permission to be as difficult as you like, as long as you find out who." Her expression was as cold as her words. "You might find some people a little reluctant to open up – we're a pretty close-knit community – so if someone's clamming up, let me know."

At that, both Phryne and Jack felt they had achieved all they could, and left Estelle to the unpleasant tasks that lay ahead.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Feeling unusually aimless, they wandered back out into the street. Across the road from the hotel was a bench, carefully positioned to allow guests to sit and enjoy the river view; so they decided to co-operate. Jack slid an arm around her shoulders, with almost no adrenaline lift at all these days for his freedom to embrace his wife in public; and then made himself a silent promise never, ever to take that freedom for granted.

"So, he quite often slept on the boat," she commented.

He assented. "Does you think the whole town knew?"

"Probably," she sighed. Then she sat up and looked at him. "On the other hand, how many people would have had access to the boat for sabotage, given how much the siblings loved it?"

He smiled. "I like your thinking, Miss Fisher – but then," he leaned in and dropped his voice to a whisper, "I so often do ..."

She smirked and then turned a blank gaze to the beautiful view, lost in thought.

"Who can we ask? I wouldn't want to ask Estelle – or Martin – not at first, anyway." She inclined her head to him, seeking approval. "My vote would be to go back to the crew. And ... we haven't really talked to Sam at all, yet, have we?" Her voice was all honey now. "Should I use my Wiles, Inspector?"

He suppressed the snort that was his automatic reaction to her question.

"Phryne, I would quite like to return to Bairnsdale before I die – it's already proving memorable – so if you could possibly restrain your Wiles that might be best."

He turned to her and tilted his head in mock-seriousness.

"On the other hand, if you chose to apply your motherly instincts to a young man who looks as though he's barely old enough to shave, I could only applaud your dedication to our cause."

She snorted.

"Jack, my motherly instincts can be encased within slightly less space than the nail of my little finger, so it could be a short interview!"

He raised his eyebrows. "You do yourself a disservice, Miss Fisher – as I think Jane, and all the other waifs and strays that have been so fortunate as to cross your path, would attest."

She clearly hadn't thought of her tendency to help young people in quite that way before, and narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously. Unabashed, he met her gaze.

Sam, bless him, hadn't had a lot to add anyway – maternal comforts or womanly wiles notwithstanding.

"Mrs Robinson, the boat's a family thing. Like the hotel and the other stuff. The only people who would be on her would be Davy and Martin – and Joe and me, sometimes. Estelle would sometimes come out for fun, but it was the rest of us who were keeping the _Cora May_ in shape."

Phryne gave her warmest smile in response to the dead end, and politely took her leave.

"I don't understand, Jack," she complained. "How could someone get on board and do a perfectly beautiful bit of sabotage without anyone in the family noticing?"

They were walking up the path to the hotel door by then, and were met by Estelle, and a larger, older version of the deceased. He stretched out a hand to Jack.

"Inspector Robinson? Mrs Robinson? Martin Baker."

Jack grasped the proffered hand firmly.

"Mr Baker, sorry to be making your acquaintance under such tragic circumstances."

How smoothly the practised phrases fell when needed. They were needed here. Martin Baker was not a happy man.

"Forgive me, Inspector, but I don't quite understand how you come to be involved in my brother's death? Apart from, apparently, being complicit in causing it?" sneered Baker.

"I understand your position, Mr Baker, but I can assure you that Miss…us Robinson and I are only trying to make sure that the important ground is covered as quickly as possible, to help find your brother's killer. I believe that Sergeant Stanford is on his way, but as a fellow member of Victoria's law enforcement community, I couldn't stand idly by and leave a colleague to pick up a cold trail for want of the smallest effort on my part."

Jack was trying hard to strike a balance between conciliatory and firm. For the most part, Phryne thought, he was succeeding. While clearly unhappy with the situation, Baker returned no reply, and with a rude shrug, walked off around the side of the hotel.

Estelle was apologetic. "Neither of us can really understand it, Inspector – Davy was well liked, and we couldn't think of any arguments at all that he might have had lately – well, apart from with the two of us!" she smiled sadly. "But then, siblings always argue, and even if I'd often felt like killing Davy, it would take more than him taking the last of the kitchen kitty to buy beer to make me do away with him."

Strong as she appeared, her eyes were filling, and she too turned away.

Dinner that night definitely lacked the sparkle of the previous evening, and Mr and Mrs Robinson took to their room early rather than prolong the discomfort.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

It was the click of the door closing that woke Phryne, and at first, she wasn't sure she'd heard it. Then, though, she felt what she first took to be a breeze on her hand. Breezes were usually more ephemeral, though. This one appeared to want to … stick around.

"Jack."

A whisper. A gentle snore was the only response.

"JACK" still a whisper, if it was possible to shout while whispering.

"Mmm?"

At least he was responding.

"Jack …. there's something on my hand, and it's not moving."

Tense would have been understating the tone of voice, and it clearly penetrated Jack's fogged brain. Reaching out a hand, he found the switch of his bedside light, and turned it on.

On the plus side, the bright light made the spider scuttle to the nearest dark place.

On the minus, the dark place was the valley on the quilt between their bodies.

Phryne was trying very hard to remain silent, but couldn't restrain a faint whimper.

Jack's hand, still resting by the lamp, moved as smoothly as he could to his water glass. Pouring the dregs onto the floor, he slowly brought the glass through the air and in a continuous arc, planted it on top of the spider.

"Phryne, you're now at liberty to move away if you would like," he remarked conversationally, to which idea she responded enthusiastically. He turned back to his bedside table and located the book he'd been reading. Picking it up by the hard front cover (with a silent prayer for forgiveness to booklovers worldwide), he slid it under the glass, trapping the spider conclusively. Getting up carefully, he placed it on the floor against the wall.

Then he turned round and succeeded in keeping a very nearly straight face.

The ceiling was high.

The wardrobe was designed for a smaller chamber.

Nonetheless, the ability to scale it, and sit on top of it, stark naked, legs crossed and swinging one foot in affected nonchalance, was … unique to his wife.

He cleared his throat, because that was probably going to be deemed more appropriate than laughing out loud.

"You can come down, now. It's secure."

She put her nose firmly in the air.

"You may regard 'trapped under a glass and on top of a book' as secure, Inspector. I beg to differ."

He dipped his head to hide the smile, and walked over to her.

"Please, Phryne, will you let me help you down? Either that or I'm going to have to start making speeches about that birdsong being the nightingale and not the lark." He held out his arms, and tilted his head. "And a wardrobe makes a very poor balcony, my Juliet."

She condescended to look down, and met his eye plaintively. He did no more than lift his arms a little higher, and she reluctantly edged to the side of the wardrobe before sliding down into them.

"Please can you get rid of it, though, Jack?" she begged. "A screwtop jar of some kind?"

He pulled on trousers, a shirt and shoes and sneaked down to the kitchen to find a suitable jar. It was only while he was away that Phryne recalled the noise which had woken her in the first place. He was understandably surprised, therefore, when his return to the room was welcomed by a .38 revolver, carefully placed to the back of his head.

Without moving, he said, "Flattering as it is to be regarded as such a dangerous threat to your virtue, Mrs Robinson, I have to say I'm glad I'm the only person to be allowed to witness your response – especially given your choice of costume."

Recalled to her naked state, Phryne had the grace to stalk across the room and hop under the covers, pointedly averting her gaze until the offending arachnid was safely contained in a jar, in a suitcase, in the bottom of the wardrobe.

"I'd get rid of it altogether, to help you sleep better, Mrs Robinson," her husband remarked wearily, "but for the fact that I really need to find out how on earth a funnel web found its way to Bairnsdale."

She glared at him.

"Someone put it in our room, almost certainly to scare us off. As a result, I will be spending the rest of the night hiding, Inspector, and you have only yourself to blame."

She disappeared beneath the quilt and curled into a sulky ball with her back to him.

He sighed, patted her back and switched off the light.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

As ever, Phryne's ill humour didn't last long – within minutes of the light going out, Jack felt a hand creep across his chest, and lifted his arm to gather her in. Their disturbed night saw them rising later than usual, and when they descended for what was left of breakfast, they were met at the foot of the stairs by a uniformed police officer.

"Sergeant Stanford? DI Jack Robinson, Melbourne City South," Jack stuck out his hand. "Good to meet you."

"And you, sir," the man smiled as they shook hands. He was in his fifties, Jack guessed, and leanly built. Stanford turned to Phryne.

"Mrs Robinson?" he guessed. She smiled back, and shook hands too.

"Yes – but professionally, Phryne Fisher, Detective. Good morning, Sergeant, have you had breakfast?" He had, but agreed to have a cup of tea while they ate in a corner of the now almost-deserted dining room.

"I'm glad you're here, Stanford – we've been doing what we can to strike while the iron's hot, but without local knowledge it's hard to know what questions to ask, and of whom," said Jack. "The only suggestion we've got that we're on the right track is that we had a rather disrupted night last night."

"Oh?" Stanford was interested.

"We had an intruder – well, two intruders, only one of whom left," Jack explained. "My knowledge of botany isn't vast, but I'm fairly confident that the funnel web spider isn't a native of Victoria?"

"You'd be right," said Stanford grimly. "You're not telling me you had one in your room?"

Phryne took up the tale. "I was woken by the click as the door closed, then felt the thing crawl on to my hand." She gave an involuntary shudder at the memory.

"We've caught it, and it's in a jar in our room," Jack told him. "But even if the intention wasn't to kill anyone, but just scare us into leaving, it suggests we're right to be suspicious of the way David Baker died."

Stanford noted that the concept of taking the hint the spider was meant to have provided didn't seem to occur to either of them.

"Estelle was telling me you think the boat was sabotaged?" he asked.

Jack nodded. "It's interesting – the hole through to the engine was neatly drilled and varnished to match the rest of the woodwork. If you hadn't been looking for it, you probably wouldn't realise anything was wrong." He inclined his head in query at Stanford. "Can you think of anyone who would have cause to do such a thing?"

He shook his head. "Davy was a popular bloke, Inspector. The three kids are pretty well off – their dad left them the hotel and the boat, but also a few other properties around town, and there's a patch of land to the north as well. But Davy never acted like he was better'n anyone."

"But Estelle and Martin did?" asked Phryne, extrapolating from what hadn't been said.

Stanford pursed his lips. "Not Estelle, not really. She's a hard worker and she knows how she wants to run this place, but that's just business, and she's good at it. Just like her mum was. Martin's a chip off the old block, as ambitious as his dad was. Davy? He was just a gentle soul. Loved the boat, mostly."

He looked at them both.

"If you were to ask me who'd be the one to get himself killed, it would be Martin – not young Davy."

Jack considered. "So, Martin's ambitious. In what direction do his ambitions lie, do you know?"

"Property," replied Stanford succinctly. "The family already has two or three houses, but Martin wants to build that side of things up. They've a plot of land in the north of town, and he wants to put up some more properties on it."

"Oh?" asked Phryne, interested. "And did the others agree, do you think?"

Stanford shrugged.

"Don't see why they wouldn't. Town's growing, so the opportunity's there, plain to see."

Nonetheless, Phryne made a mental note to test that particular theory.

"So, what next, Inspector?" asked Stanford.

Jack grimaced. "There's still the boring legwork to be done – was anyone seen boarding the boat to perform the sabotage, do we know who knew David would be sleeping on it that night? The chloroform must have been administered around midnight or the early hours of the morning, I'd reckon."

Phryne's nose wrinkled delicately. "There's far too much sneaking about in the dead of night goes on in this town for my liking," she remarked. Jack looked at her in faint astonishment – as one who was something of an adept at sneaking about in the dead of night, it was odd that she should take exception to others doing it. Catching his glance, she smirked.

"Why lurk in the shadows when you could be relaxing by the fireside with a nice glass of something Scottish, Jack?"

Her selective memory was, he realised, quite awe-inspiring; and he stored away that particular quote to use in evidence against her at the earliest possible opportunity.

Folding his napkin, he stood, and agreed with Stanford that they would have another shot at talking to Estelle and Martin, while he attempted to come up with some useful witnesses. His lugubrious expression suggested the level of success he expected to achieve, but he politely took his leave of them.

Phryne poured herself another cup of coffee and looked up at him.

"What do you say, Jack – divide and conquer? You take the businesslike Estelle, and I'll grill mercantile Martin?"

Agreeing with Phryne's plan was, he'd found, usually the best approach. It was always the one which would be carried out, after all.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Estelle Baker, having dealt with the day's departing guests, was ensconced behind her office desk when Jack went looking. He could hear someone speaking, so tapped on the open door before sticking his head around it, finding her talking on the telephone. She glanced up and when she saw who it was, beckoned him in.

He wandered the room as he waited for her to finish her call with what was clearly a recalcitrant butcher. The mantelpiece held a series of photographs; looking more closely, he realised they were all of the family. Childhood photos of first bicycle rides made him smile reminiscently; a studio shot, carefully posed, of all three children – Martin and the young David standing either side of Estelle, proudly atop a rocking horse.

Further along the mantelpiece was a photo of the whole family; mother flanked by her two boys and father proudly holding his little girl. The resemblances were particularly marked; father and daughter both fair haired, the boys and their mother dark. The features, too – a Roman nose didn't do Estelle many favours, but distinguished her father, while their mother's heavy eyebrows branded both Martin and young Davy.

He was still pondering the family resemblances when he heard her put down the telephone, and turned round.

"Sorry, Inspector – I don't know if you had the fillet last night, but it's the last time anyone's going to try to pass off sirloin as fillet to my clients. A lovely cut of meat, but not what the menu says, and I lack a sense of humour about these things," she stated firmly. In her element, Estelle Baker was a forceful woman. "How can I help you?"

He apologised first for having to trouble her, and swiftly got through the tedious part of the interview; she had been at the hotel all evening, and when she'd finished supervising the dinner service and preparing the bills for the guests in the morning, she'd asked for a brandy from the bar at around eleven and taken it to her room on the top floor.

"You live here?" he asked, surprised.

"In the attic," she answered. "Have done since I was fifteen years old and started working as a chambermaid. Then waitress. Then commis chef. Learning the job, Inspector. There are people who play at hospitality, and then there are those of us that want to do it right." She raised an eyebrow at him. "I don't expect you started out on the force as a detective?"

He admitted she was right, and carefully asked, "And your brother, Martin? I understand he's by way of being a property developer."

She nodded. "He's minded to put up some more houses on the vacant plot we have. I can see why he would – since the railway came through, it's so easy to get here from Melbourne," she gave him a half-smile to acknowledge that he'd done just that. "He's got a good instinct, I think. I don't really try to second-guess him any more – he can see opportunities that I don't have time to look for."

She looked up at him steadily.

"He was rude to you when he first met you, and I tore a strip off him for it. He's too used to being the head of the family, king of the walk, master of all he surveys, use whatever cliché you like – when a mere officer of the law asks him to justify his behaviour, he has to readjust his ideas a bit."

She glanced out the window for a moment, then turned back to him.

"Give him facts to deal with, and you'll get facts in return, Inspector."

She smiled then.

"Not like Davy," she shook her head, lost in a happy moment that he couldn't bring himself to snap her out of.

"He was our dreamer of dreams. He'd be happiest with moonlight and a song. An old fashioned minstrel. I sometimes thought that he liked the boat so much because he'd really rather be on his travels than staying in one place."

When she looked at him again, her eyes were full of tears and her voice was clear and low.

"Find my brother's killer, Inspector."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

Martin Baker's house was a little further up Riverine St, and set back from the road. Opening the gate, Phryne strode up to the front door and rang the bell firmly. When it opened, she had to blink, then smiled.

 _She said to Jack later, "Can you imagine a female version of Mr Butler? I mean, with more hair, obviously. But the same height, the same face, and that same indefinable air of being able to do absolutely anything at the slightest notice? I almost wondered if she had been in Military Intelligence."_

 _He raised an eyebrow. "Phryne, it wasn't until I met Mr Butler that I realised the phrase mightn't be an oxymoron."_

Invited into the parlour to wait, she spent time wandering the room, trying to pick up a flavour of Martin Baker, property developer. There were remarkably lean pickings.

Photos of family: zero.

Art works demonstrating unique taste: also zero. She decided he had quite possibly bought his paintings by the square inch.

Ah, books. She ran a finger along the shelf, which looked beautiful.

And decided he was buying books by the yard as well. It wasn't that the titles weren't interesting, but putting the life of Lord Kitchener next to an early Jane Austen didn't precisely scream literary passion.

She heard footsteps behind her but decided she was happy to be caught examining the publicity in more detail.

"Mrs Robinson? Or is it Miss Fisher?" The deep voice behind her was already claiming moral high ground.

Without pausing for breath, she replaced him where he belonged.

"Very much Miss Fisher, Mr Baker, given that this is a murder investigation," A quick, efficient smile. "And to get the boring part out of the way, could you just clarify your movements from about 10pm onwards on Friday, and anyone you were in contact with between then and 10am yesterday?"

His glance was pure disbelief.

"Miss Fisher, I think I need to check that you're talking about the period in which my brother died. My _only_ brother. Is it now the fashion in Melbourne to goad the bereaved?"

She afforded him a gentle, understanding glance, which belied the pure steel beneath it.

"No, Mr Baker. I'm talking about the time in which the death of your brother was finally engineered. He almost certainly died rather later. I do hope you understand that anything you can tell me about what you did then can only help catch his killer?"

The victim retired wounded, but rallied. "In that case, Miss Fisher, I can only say that I was here, with my brother, until late in the evening. He was singing. He does that."

He turned his head directly towards her.

"He does – did – it rather well, if truth be told."

She'd come to interrogate a fellow member of the human race but at the moment, she might as well have been chatting up granite.

"How do you mean?" she essayed carefully.

His gaze was now directed to the floor.

"Davy was a bard, Miss Fisher, in the old style. He'd tell stories in song. It sounds mad to say it, but he couldn't not tell a tale. It was in his blood. If something big happened – a birth, an anniversary, a death, whatever – you'd find Davy, in whoever's house he was in that night, singing about it."

Phryne nodded understandingly.

"Which side of the family did his talent come from, do you think? Was it his father?"

She could have snapped her fingers to have elicited such an instant response.

"I've no idea, Miss Fisher. Now, if you have the answers you need, perhaps you'll excuse me?"

He didn't wait to be excused.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

Phryne listened to the front door shut behind him and pursed her lips in thought. Stepping out into the hallway, rather than follow Baker, she glanced around, and followed her nose to the kitchen.

Sure enough, the lady who'd answered the door was there, and busy at the sink. Phryne tapped lightly on the door to announce herself, and the woman turned round.

"Oh, hello, madam. Can I help you?"

Phryne took a small step over the threshold.

"I'm terribly sorry to bother you, Mrs ..?"

The woman straightened up and, wiping her hands dry on her apron, cross the kitchen to shake hands.

"Cook. Mrs Cook," she said with a smile.

Phryne's grin widened with the discovery of a parallel degree of nominative determinism to her own Mr Butler. She presented her business card.

"I'm helping with the police inquiry into the death of David Baker, and I was hoping you might be able to clarify one or two things for me?"

"Of course, Miss Fisher. Tea?"

Tea was gratefully accepted and, after the first sip, Phryne spoke up.

"I understand David was here with Martin on Friday night, is that right?"

Mrs Cook nodded. "Yes, miss. He came round during the evening and must have been here for an hour or so."

Only an hour? To be fair, Martin hadn't actually said what time David left, but she'd had the impression it was a longer stay.

"And was David singing?"

"Singing? Dear me, no. I mean, he often would be – such a lovely voice that boy had," she smiled reminiscently, "but no, they were arguing the whole time. I wasn't trying to listen in, but it's not a big house. Something to do with the boat."

She shook her head sadly.

"Mr David slammed the door so hard when he left, the whole house rattled. Awful to think that was the last time they saw each other."

Phryne was intent, now.

"Did they often fight, Mrs Cook? I got the impression the three children got on well together?"

"They used to," she pondered. "It was funny, after old Mr Baker died, something changed between Mr David and Mr Martin."

"In what way?"

"Hard to say, really. A coldness, as though they weren't family any more." Mrs Cook sighed. "Such a pity. They'd had their trials, that family, and seemed to come through them. Their parents were estranged for a while after Mr David was born, and then they got back together, and along came Miss Estelle and they were a happy family again. Even when poor Mrs Baker was taken with pneumonia, the children all rallied round – that was when Miss Estelle started getting involved in running the hotel, to help out her dad, because it was all getting a bit much for the poor man."

She met Phryne's eyes.

"And now this. Some families have more than their fair share of bad luck, don't they, Miss Fisher?"

Phryne agreed sympathetically that they did. Thanking Mrs Cook for the tea, she stood and took her leave.

There were so many muddled thoughts to sort out in her head – she was going to need a Detective Inspector to help, she decided, and hurried back to the hotel to see if there were any DIs at a loose end there. Luckily, there was one in her room that fitted the bill perfectly.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

When she appeared in the room, the Detective Inspector greeted her warmly – _very_ warmly – and sternly reminded her that it was Sunday, and therefore a day of rest. She had been dashing about far too much, and probably needed a nap. Thus reminded, she agreed that she was a bit tired, and might have a lie down. It turned out the Inspector had been dashing about too, because he also needed a nap.

It was one of their more …active naps.

It was therefore almost time to get ready for dinner before she was able to share what she had learned at Martin's house, and hear his account of his interview with Estelle.

"So, Martin was lying about the nature of his meeting with David," mused Jack, as he toyed idly with the fingers she'd splayed on his chest.

"And about how long David was there," Phryne reminded him. "So much for Estelle's comment about meeting facts with facts! It's odd, too, that their relationship broke down after their father died. Surely something like that would bring them closer together?"

"They're very different people, though," said Jack. "Martin the businessman, David the musician."

"How very … biblical," remarked Phryne. "David and his lyre. I wonder if his parents knew he would be a musician when he was born?"

"Or perhaps he grew up to be a musician because they called him David."

Phryne sat up.

"Whichever it is, I think we should head over to the police station in the morning to compare notes with Ned Stanford. I don't think there's much doubt that Martin Baker's emerging as our chief suspect – he had access to the boat whenever he wanted so he could make the modifications to the cabin that made it deadly – he helped build it, remember – and he lied about the nature and timing of his meeting the night before David died."

"But to kill his own brother?" Jack objected. "It would take more than a family spat to justify that."

"That's why I think we need to talk to Sergeant Stanford again," said Phryne, heading for the bathroom. "There's something we're missing. Right, I'm going to have a quick bath."

"I'll come and do your back if you like," offered her husband, generously.

She grinned at him over her shoulder as she stood in the bathroom doorway, and his breath caught in his throat at the sheer joy of her. Would he ever get used to having this woman in his life?

"Jack, I know we had breakfast late, but we missed lunch and I'm starving. I think that rather than miss dinner, I'll do my own back!"

With a shrug, he admitted she might have a point and, adjuring her only to leave the water in so that he could have a quick sluice, settled back with his hands behind his head and a grin on his face that could only have been described as _smug_.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

Monday dawned fair again, and having enjoyed a rather less arachnified night, Jack and Phryne breakfasted at a civilised hour, then decided that they would walk to the police station. Estelle gave them directions.

"It's easy – turn right out of the gate and cut down whichever of the streets to your right takes your fancy. Keep going until you get to Main Street, and turn left, and you'll see the station on your right."

Arm in arm, they strolled, and having taken the first available road to the centre of town, were soon ambling along Main Street, stopping now and then to look in shop windows. Phryne's attention was particularly caught by a scarlet cloche, and Jack turned to ask her how many hats she actually needed.

"Exactly one more than the number I currently have at any given moment, Jack," she said happily. "Oh!"

This last was because Jack, for no apparent reason, had been overtaken with a desire to display his affection for his new wife as publicly as possible, and had caught her in a kiss. She shut her eyes and went with the flow – he clearly liked her hats too, she decided – until she realised that his mind wasn't perhaps 100% on the task at hand. Cracking open her eyes a slit, she realised that he was looking over her shoulder at something.

On the one hand, she was interested to know what he'd seen; on the other hand, anyone who had the temerity to kiss Phryne Fisher purely for cover should definitely be made aware of the risk they were taking.

One gloved hand sneaked up to caress his cheek, while the other burrowed inside his coat, stealthily undoing buttons.

The desired effect was achieved. Next time she opened her eyes, she observed with satisfaction that she now had his undivided attention.

Eventually, a loud tut from a passer-by recalled them both to their senses; drifting reluctantly apart, they looked at each other with a heady mixture of heat and mirth.

"So, Detective Inspector, what did you see?" she asked, calmly rebuttoning her slightly unbuttoned husband.

"Not what – who," he said, slightly breathlessly. "Martin Baker. Coming out of the bank. He shook hands with a chap who went back inside."

He looked down at her and quirked a smile.

"If you've finished re-dressing me, Mrs Robinson, what do you say we go and enquire about opening a joint banking account?"

The chap Baker had met proved to be no less a personage than the manager of the bank, and he was delighted to take an impromptu meeting with a smart couple interested in bringing him business – at least until they were sitting in the privacy of his office, at which point he experienced something of a let-down.

Jack pulled out his badge. Phryne pulled out her business card. The manager stopped pulling out all the stops.

With a wary expression, he pressed his intercom and requested coffee for them all.

"How – within the bounds of client confidentiality – can I help you, Inspector? And Miss – er – Fisher?"

Jack quashed very quickly the quaint notion of confidentiality.

"We're embarked upon a murder investigation, and are currently closely focussing on one Martin Baker, who was seen a few minutes ago leaving your bank, having clearly concluded a piece of business. I would like you to explain what that business was."

The manager took a moment to compose his thoughts while the coffee arrived. As the door closed behind his secretary, he met Jack's gaze.

"Can I take it that if I don't give you what you need now, I'll be having Ned Stanford turn up on my doorstep ere long to make it all more complicated?"

"You can," smiled Phryne cheerfully. The manager sighed.

"I admit that I was already a little uncomfortable about the conversation I have just had with my client, and your presence only serves to underline that." He leaned both arms on his desk and laced his fingers together. "You are aware that Mr Baker is a property developer?"

They both nodded.

"He intends to build on a site owned by his family to the north of the town. I believe his plan is sensible, and that buyers will be forthcoming for whatever he builds there."

"However …" he hesitated, clearly choosing his words carefully, "Mr Baker is already quite heavily extended on his borrowings with us. The economy is not strong, and we need a degree of assurance that our faith in his business acumen will be rewarded."

"You asked for security," stated Jack.

"We did. We already hold first lien over the land itself, but the cost of the development isn't entirely covered, and we have asked for additional security in relation to a lesser, but important sum, for working capital."

"Might that additional security have the name _Cora May_?" asked Phryne, which won her a sharp glance from under the manager's brows.

"It might," he affirmed cautiously. "I understood initially that Mr Baker was meeting with opposition from certain other co-owners of the asset. This morning, he came to see me to confirm that he now has the necessary consents to place the boat's title with us, and I have confirmed that the working capital loan can be drawn upon."

Phryne met Jack's eye. He spoke up.

"Can I ask whether Mr Baker mentioned any events that might have taken place over the weekend, to explain the changed position?"

"He did not."

"Then, sir, you might wish to be a little careful about the extent to which you allow the loan to be drawn down," said Jack mildly. "Our investigation is ongoing, but there are certain constraints over the handling of the proceeds of crime, of which I'm sure you are aware. Put bluntly, one of the three co-owners of the boat was murdered on Saturday morning. We have, as yet, no proof of your client's involvement, but would suggest that for the moment, you hold off processing his loan any further."

The banker paled, thanked them, showed them out and reached into his bottom drawer for a medicinal tot to add to his coffee.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

"Well, we're not quite there, Jack, but we're nearly there," remarked Phryne, and they crossed Main Street to reach the police station.

Jack was stalling, though. "I still can't see it. No matter how badly Baker wanted that loan, he surely wouldn't kill his own brother for it?" He shoved his hands in his pockets, clearly worrying the conundrum over and over in his head.

Phryne saw far less of a challenge. "Darling Jack, people do the most ridiculous things for money. If they'd already fallen out, why wouldn't Martin go one step further and simply remove the obstacle?"

They'd arrived at the station by then, and Stanford was waiting for them behind the counter. They quickly brought him up to date.

"I think the only thing to do is to bring Baker down to the station for questioning," concluded Jack.

He was surprised to receive only a lukewarm response from Stanford, but the sergeant agreed to leave Jack in charge of the station while he drove up to the Abbotsford in search of their suspect.

The interview room was not large, and having four people in it rendered it claustrophobic. However, Jack might as well have been in a large, airy courtroom, thought Phryne proudly.

"Mr Baker, you are not at this stage being charged with any crime; however, we have reason to believe that it was you who engineered the death of your brother David last Saturday morning. You were in a position to sabotage the engine – incidentally, putting not just David but every person on that boat at risk. Did it occur to you that a single spark could have blown us all sky-high?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Baker angrily.

"You also claimed that you were with David until late on Friday night, and that he was singing to you," persisted Jack. "We now know that he was within you for less than an hour, and you were in fact arguing. What was the argument about?"

Baker glared, but could not dodge the direct question – rather, he exploded.

"He was a fool! The profit to be made from building on the north plot was obvious to anyone with an ounce of financial acumen. The boat was just going to be a tiny part of the security for the loan, but would he sign the papers? Would he hell! The whole project was grinding to a halt, just because he didn't want to put his precious boat at risk."

"But to kill him for it?" asked Phryne mildly. "How could you kill your own brother? Just because of a business deal?"

There was a silence; Baker was not going to be easily trapped. Then surprisingly, it was Stanford who spoke up.

"I think I know." He gazed fixedly at Baker, whose head had snapped up, eyes narrowing at the sergeant.

"He wasn't your brother, was he?"

Jack looked at Stanford, confused.

"But the family resemblance is so strong. What do you mean?"

Stanford never took his eyes off Baker.

"They had the same mother – but different fathers." He returned Jack's look.

"Cora, their mother, went through a bad patch after Martin was born. It happens to some women. Life was getting on top of her, she didn't feel she could do anything right, and just got more and more depressed. Carl – their dad – didn't know how to handle it, and buried himself in his work instead. So it was hardly surprising when a musician blew into town who could charm the birds off the trees, and took a real interest in Cora, that she was interested right back. He gave her a new lease of life – and, I'm guessing, a baby."

His gaze returned to Baker, whose hands were clenched on the table in front of him.

"Cora came to stay with my aunt for a few months – at the time, I thought it was just to get a break while she was expecting, but it wasn't was it Martin?"

Baker's voice was so low it was almost a whisper.

"Dad told me about it when he was dying. He said I was going to be the head of the family, and I should know."

He looked up and saw Phryne watching him. The level of hatred in his face took her aback.

"He said that he'd come to understand and forgive her, and that Estelle was the token they had of that forgiveness. How could he forgive her? My mother was a whore. David was a bastard, and he was a bastard who was stopping the family achieving everything we deserved." He was snarling now. "Of course I killed him. He didn't care for us, for me, for what we could be. He only cared about music, and his _bloody boat_."

It took both Jack and Sergeant Stanford's combined efforts to get the handcuffs on his wrists and the very volatile businessman into Bairnsdale's one and only cell.


	15. Chapter 15

**Epilogue**

"Well, we still have two days left to salvage of our honeymoon, Miss Fisher – are you prepared to revert to the role of Mrs Robinson for a spell?"

They were standing together on the balcony of their room, admiring the view across the river in the late afternoon sun. Phryne stood by the rail, and Jack behind her, his hands flanking hers. She turned in his arms, and played with the knot of his tie, smoothing it to her own idea of perfection.

"I think it rather depends, Detective Inspector."

He looked at her quizzically. "Depends? On what?"

"Which is it you prefer? The dangerous, irritating Miss Fisher, or the domesticated Mrs Robinson?"

His lips twitched at that.

"Phryne, if I'd thought there was the slightest possibility of you becoming a domesticated anything, I would have found some other way of keeping you out of jail – I certainly wouldn't have married you."

"Jack! Not even to save my neck?"

He agreed it was a very nice neck, which deserved much closer scrutiny. She tipped her head back a little, to facilitate an exercise of which she very much approved. His next words were a little muffled, and punctuated with light kisses, but she thought she got the gist.

"The particular joy I have – Mrs Robinson – is being the only – person on – the planet – who gets to see – both ladies – in the same – extremely fetching – package."

"In that case, Mr Robinson, I think we should definitely," she broke off to giggle when he unerringly identified that ticklish point below her left ear, "ah – make the most of the rest of our honeymoon."

She broke off, and sternly pushed his face away with a finger on his lips.

"On two conditions."

"Anything, Miss Fisher."

"That we remain on dry land; and that you get rid of that damn spider."


End file.
